


dressed up and tied down

by spacebuck



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Bondage, Bottom!Bucky, Bucky in panties, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Feminisation, Inspired by Art, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shibari, Sub Bucky Barnes, Subspace, boundaries are implied to have been set before this fic, it opens at the start of a scene, it's very public but like in an area not frequented basically ever so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 09:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7635583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebuck/pseuds/spacebuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ve left something for you on the bed.” Steve’s voice rumbles through their apartment, and Bucky can’t help but shiver a little as he pauses by the couch and glances over. Steve’s sitting at the dining table, chair pushed back, feet crossed at the ankle. “You should put it on.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	dressed up and tied down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Slaughter_Me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slaughter_Me/gifts).



> inspired by a [manip](http://slaughterme-barnes.tumblr.com/post/148163942754/how-long-do-i-have-to-stay-like-this-stevie) by [slaughterme-barnes](slaughterme-barnes.tumblr.com) who was too kind in letting me word vomit all over the idea ily
> 
> unbeta'd, so if i've made any grammatical errors hit me up on [tumblr](brickhousebuck.tumblr.com) or somethin and let me know
> 
> i should be writing my sbb. oops.

“I’ve left something for you on the bed.” Steve’s voice rumbles through their apartment, and Bucky can’t help but shiver a little as he pauses by the couch and glances over. Steve’s sitting at the dining table, chair pushed back, feet crossed at the ankle. “You should put it on.”

Bucky can hear the command lining the suggestion, and his eyes unfocus for a second. It was pretty normal for Steve to surprise him when he got home like this, but he could hear a faint line of tension in Steve’s voice, beyond the steel of command. He dips his chin slightly in a nod, but Steve stops him with a look before he can go into their room.

“C’mere first.”

Bucky goes, he can’t refuse. Even if it had been a request.

He goes, and Steve’s hand catches his hip, sliding warm and heavy over it. Another hand comes up, warm and gentle, and catches Bucky’s chin, pulling him down. Their lips slide together, soft and sweet, before Steve nips his lip sharply. “That’s all you’re getting. Go,”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate. Steps back and smiles at Steve, before doing as he’s told. What he finds nearly brings him to his knees, and they haven’t even started yet.

The panties are the first thing that catch his eye, laid out all crisp and neat. They’re grey, soft, lace in all the right places. Instead of a middle segment, there’s just a string of pearls.

Bucky swallows. Hard.

Next to them are the stockings neatly folded, spread just enough so that it’s clear they’re thigh-highs. The tops are lace, and there’s no garter to match. Either they’re stay-ups, or something he’s got to work at tonight, to keep them up. The boots in front of the bed give him pause, purely because he’s not expecting it. They’re his, big heavy combat boots, laces loose, inviting.

He hears a noise from behind him and turns to see Steve in the doorway, eyes raised. “Once you’re dressed, make yourself presentable for the public, we’re going for a walk.” The uncertainty of before is gone, Bucky’s obviously positive reaction settling the man some. He doesn’t touch, just turns, walks back out of the room. A check-in, Bucky supposed. Making sure he hadn’t gone too far.

Bucky sits gingerly, tugging his shoes off, trying not to disturb the careful layout of lingerie until he’s ready. Shoes first, thunking to the floor one after the other, then he stands, tucks them away. Socks go in the hamper. Pants next, the heavy buckle of his belt clinking as he undoes it, leaving it in the loops as he pulls the denim down his legs. They go draped carefully on the bed, ready to go back on once he’s finished with the lace.

Bucky swallows, torn on which one to put on first, but in the end he goes for the panties. He skims his boxers off, and they go the way of his socks, before he picks up the scrap of lace. They’re lighter than he expected, though he’s not sure exactly what he expected, and he takes a moment to run them through his fingers, the lace scratching delicately against skin. Then he’s pulling them on, careful of the lace, not wanting to get anything caught in the joints of his left hand. Once they’re in place, he shifts his weight. The pearls settle right down the line of his ass, rubbing teasingly over his hole, and there’s just enough room in the front to keep his half-hard cock contained. He shifted again, shivered at the cool touch against sensitive skin, then moved to the stockings.

They were harder to put on, the delicate mesh too easy to rip with his left hand, so he took it slow, smoothing the fabric up his legs with the palms of his hands more than tugging on it with his fingers. It works for the most part. There’s a few spots where the imprint of his fingers is taking a little while to smooth out, but he knows they will. He didn’t rip them this time.

He almost wants to preen at that, strut into the living room and show Steve how well he did. But, he knows better. So he just strokes his hands down his legs again, stockings silky under his left one, then grabs his jeans again. Pulling them on has him biting his lip, the little chain of pearls in just the right place to tease, the touch not hard enough to do more than that, but he manages.

Sitting down to pull on the boots is an experience though. Pressure, like a hot line, runs from just behind his balls to just past his hole, and he shudders at the press. His lower lip takes a beating, and when he stands, boots secure, and lets it go, he can feel it throb just a little. Shit.

Bucky grabs his jacket but doesn’t put it on, walks gingerly back out to where Steve is waiting. There’s a slight smile on Steve’s face, like he knows exactly what had happened, and Bucky has to struggle to keep his voice even as he asks, “Will I need this?”

“Nope.” Steve pops the “p”, then smiles slightly, standing from his spot at the dining table. “It’s not far.’ He holds out a hand, and Bucky goes, steps still careful, and places a hand in Steve’s, slinging the jacket over the back of one of the chairs. “There’s one other thing, but you’ll want to put it on when we get there. Can’t have my baby getting cold.”

Bucky shivers, nods a little, everything already starting to go fuzzy at the edges. Steve knows, oh he knows, and he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “Come on then,” he murmurs, voice gentle. “Let’s go.”

It’s not a long walk, objectively. But just getting down the stairs of their building – of course Steve wanted to use the stairs, the elevator was unpredictable at best – has his knees week, has him biting his lip and holding Steve’s hand tight. Steve’s gentle, guiding him with a word and light pressure on his hand, and takes them through the quiet streets, towards the East River. Part of Bucky is convinced there was a hitch in his step, that what they’re doing is obvious to anyone that passes, but the rest of him doesn’t care. After a few minutes of walking, he starts to relax a little further, Steve’s thumb running back and forward over his knuckles, the pearls against his ass warming up, until they’re just faint pressure.

Steve gives his hand a tug, and changes direction, walking them across a riverbank park and then down a flight of stairs, onto the actual banks of the river. Bucky narrows his eyes a little, but doesn’t comment, trusting Steve to not take them anywhere too shady.

Then, Steve stops.

Bucky looks up, blinking quickly as he struggles to focus on the area around them. It’s shaded, tucked away, the hum of cars distant as they pass on the streets above them. The area they’re in, a decommissioned culvert, his brain supplies, is empty, the concrete dry and solid under his feet. They’re surrounded on three sides by concrete, hidden from above by the lip of the culvert, and the entrance is small enough that Steve blocks most of it with his bulk.

“This okay?” Steve asks, and Bucky has to swallow a few times to get his mouth to work. But Steve waits patiently, thumb still skimming the back of Bucky’s hand.

“Yes, sir.” Bucky manages, voice surprisingly even. Steve gives him an indulgent smile, steps in close, and kisses his forehead.

“Good. Now Strip.”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate, skimming his shirt up and off and folding it, before setting it near Steve’s feet. He has to crouch to undo his laces, but he makes it work, eyes flicking between his own hands and Steve’s face. There’s a buzz in his ears, as he gets closer to what Steve wants, what Steve is going to give him, and he relishes in it, lets it wash over him. The boots come off, then he carefully tugs down his jeans, not disrupting the stockings at all as he does. The denim is folded, set on top of his shirt, and then he puts the boots back on, does them back up, stands straight and tall for inspection.

Inspect, Steve does. He walks a slow circle around Bucky, and Bucky can feel the weight of his eyes across the tops of the stockings, up to the panties, then back down. Checking for rips, ladders, anything out of place. Bucky’s confident he’ll not find anything.

“Good,” Steve says, and Bucky lets a little smile crawl across his face at the praise. Steve stops in front of him again, and looks him over once more, before pulling things out of a bag Bucky hasn’t even noticed. First, a coil of rope, black and thin, and Bucky swallows hard. It’s been so long since Steve used that rope on him, and Bucky can feel himself sinking further into himself just at the sight.

Then out comes something he doesn’t recognise. The strip of tartan, the silver chain, both are new. Bucky bites his lip, shifts his weight, and Steve doesn’t tell him off for it, so he does it again. That gets him a look, and he stills immediately. Steve stands, and for a second Bucky thinks he’s done something bad enough for Steve to call off the scene, despite not being told to stay still. Despite knowing Steve wouldn’t do that to him unless he was breaking rules he’d been explicitly given.

Instead, Steve stepped into his space, and with the minimal amount of touching, wrapped the tartan low over Bucky’s hips. “Tell me if it’s too much,” Steve orders, and steps back. Bucky lets himself look down, a small shudder running through him as he realised what it was.

The skirt hangs low on his hips, barely skimming the tops of his thighs. The silver chain wraps around it in loops, sewn into the fabric, and there’s a piece left over, cool metal kissing a line down his thigh to his knee. He catches it in his fingers, looks up at Steve, and frowns, just a little. Steve seems to accept that he doesn’t want to speak, and instead moves closer again, taking the chain and tying it to the dog tags hanging heavy around his neck.

“Good?”

A nod.

“Good.” There’s a beat of silence, then Steve takes a breath. “Now kneel.”

Bucky sinks to his knees as gracefully as he can manage, eyes staying fixed on Steve’s chin. Steve’s fingers brush over the top of his head, but don’t take out the tie, and don’t encourage him forward. Steve steps back, and Bucky has to fight a whimper at the loss of warmth. He returns quickly, rope in hand, and takes Bucky’s right arm without saying a word.

The rope is warm compared to the chain running up his stomach, and he hums softly as Steve starts to tie. Around the shoulder first, a few times to anchor, and then Steve starts to move up. It’s simple, nothing like what the man can pull out when they’re wrapped up in their room together, but it’s effective. The black is striking against Bucky’s skin, and when he tips his head to look up, he can see that each cross of rope is perfectly in line, following the curve of muscle. If he hadn’t already been on his knees, Bucky would have been brought to them.

The rope cuts across his palm, then around the backs of his fingers, before going up to the grating Bucky hadn’t noticed. Steve ties it neatly, sharp little army knots, before sliding a hand down Bucky’s arm, checking his work. A few tugs at the rope around Bucky’s bicep, a nudge to line up the knots again, and Steve’s smiling, pleased with himself. Pleased with Bucky, hopefully.

Steve steps back, admires his work, and Bucky smiles, pleased at the look on Steve’s face. He knows he’s wanted, knows he’s cherished, knows he’s Steve’s, all from that one look. Then Steve turns back to his bag, and pulls out his sketchbook.

Bucky sits his arm in his lap, rests back on his heels as much as he can, until the rope is pulling at his shoulder and the faint pain-pleasure-pain line is blurring in his mind. He settles deeper in his own mind, hears Steve say “Good Buck, you’re doing real good. Now stay still.”

He doesn’t know how much time passes. Five minutes, ten, an hour, two. Everything blurs around two sharp little points, the rope biting into his skin, and the weight of Steve’s eyes on him. Bucky stops thinking, just lets himself be drawn, and eventually there’s warm fingers in his hair again. He blinks, tips his head back a little into the affection, and those fingers slide down to cup his cheek.

“So good Buck, you look so good on your knees for me. Stayed so still, I’m gonna reward you for that, you did everything I asked.” Bucky preens at the praise, head tipping up and eyes blinking slowly, dopey smile spreading across his face, slow as honey and just as sweet. “Can I get a colour, baby? Take as long as you need”

The words float over him for longer than they should, until Bucky can make his throat work, can bring words to the forefront of his mind again. “Green,” He says, clear but quiet. Steve’s big hand doesn’t stop petting him. He doesn’t realise Steve’s other hand is moving until he hears the creak of a button, then the hiss or a zipper. He doesn’t hesitate, opens his mouth, sticks his tongue out a little in silent request.

A finger touches the tip of his tongue, brushes over his lips, and he makes a small noise, barely anything. Steve takes the hint, pulls his finger back, then something a lot bigger than that finger takes its place.

Steve’s cock is a gift, there’s no other way to put it. Fits in his mouth just right, fills him up just so. Bucky doesn’t move his hand from his lap, but curls his tongue under the head, seeking the sensitive spot that makes Steve’s hips jerk just a little, before Steve rocks his cock in deeper. Bucky’s not about to complain. He knows that Steve loves his mouth, both from the pulse of the fat vein running up the underside of his cock, and from the words that fall from his mouth, unrestrained and hoarse. He doesn’t catch much, focusing everything he has into making Steve feel good, follows each little whimper and twitch with a pleased hum, which brings about more of the former.

He doesn’t even realise Steve’s close, not until the hand in his hair suddenly tightens, and holds his head still. Then Steve’s taking over, short sharp little thrusts of his hips as Bucky sucks, until Steve’s body shudders and he fills Bucky’s mouth.

“God, baby,” Steve mumbles, and Bucky hums again, lips still wrapped nice and firmly around Steve’s cock. He knows he’s good at that, Steve’s told him more than once, but the way Steve gets, sappy and sweet, after he blows his top the first time, is a good reminder. Steve pulls his hips back, and Bucky whimpers at the loss, mouth feeling strange and tongue too light as he licks his lips, swallows pointedly.

Steve groans, low in his throat, and Bucky gives a pleased little hum. There’s fingers against the ropes on his arm, pulling it away, warm hands cupping and rotating his wrist, before moving to his elbow.

“We’ll get you dressed again, then get you home,” Steve’s voice is raw, but collected. He’s nowhere near his limit. “See what we can do about those panties, huh?”

Bucky swallows, nods. He likes the sound of that. He really does.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](brickhousebuck.tumblr.com)


End file.
